


‘Twas The Night Before Duranie Christmas

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Canon nods, Christmas, Driving, Fab Five, Fivesome, Fluff and Humor, Getting down and dirty, Jokes, Kissing, M/M, Music, Poetry, Porn, Presents, Reunion, Singing, Snow, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: ‘Twas The Night Before Duranie Christmas and for some strange reason I write,This notorious poem, with our fab five.
Relationships: Simon Le Bon/Nick Rhodes/Andy Taylor/John Taylor/Roger Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	‘Twas The Night Before Duranie Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Freaking Christmas, again! I’m back with more festive fuelled cringe, all five boys getting it on in the snow. Because why not.
> 
> Hope everybody has (had) a great day and here’s too 2020! Lots of love!

‘Twas the night before Duranie Christmas, when all through each place,

Voices were singing, screaming, wearing sequins with grace.

The stockings were hung and the house awoke with care,

In hope that liking noise, meant Nicky Bates would be there.

* * *

The band were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of screwing the virgins danced in one’s head.

The Chauffeur in leather, vinyl and his cap,

Had just slapped the Bass God on the head after a winter’s nap.

* * *

When the sun dropped down, it caused quite a chatter.

Some New Romantic sprang from bed, a feeling that mattered.

Away to the door the guitarist ran like a flash,

Grabbing gift after gift and a satin red sash.

* * *

Boys On Film stroll through the new-fallen snow,

Making hormonal, young ladies quiver down below.

When, what to some wondering eyes should appear,

That none of the Taylor’s are related, my dear!

* * *

With driving the gold Aston Martin, so lively and quick,

Tigger knew in a moment he’d see more than just St Nicky Nick.

More Taylors than any other name that came,

And two snorted line by line and called Le Bon by name!

* * *

"Now Simon! now, John! Now, Andy and Roger!

Oh, Nick! Managers, Seven, Ragged Tigers!

To the top of the charts! to the Top Of The Pops!

Now Wild Boys, lets Get It On, don’t flop!”

* * *

As screaming fans, wanting to jack down Mr J’s fly,

Block car after car, they’re never getting by.

So they’d walk, get mauled, not quite black and blue

Sacks full of Bedroom Toys, Making The Rhodes So Red, too!

Oh Rio, Rio, dance away, they’re Hungrier Than The Damn Wolf today.

* * *

And then, lust blinding, they all shone bright.

Guitarist dancing and prancing, coke head feeling light.

As another Taylor reached, metal in hand, turning around,

Nick knew already Johnny would have him bound.

* * *

JT was dressed in all leather, he held back the rain,

His clothes were all doused with vodka, satin and chain.

A bundle of Bedroom Toys were flung on Charlie’s back,

And he looked like a vampire, crazy hair looking like tat.

* * *

Simon’s eyes-how they twinkled! John’s dimples how merry!

Nick’s lips were painted rosey, his cheeks sparkling cherry!

Roger smiled, wearing his heart on his sleeve whole,

And the glasses Andy wore were as dark as his soul.

* * *

The cigarette Froggy held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

Tigger had a hot, carved face and a flat little belly,

He just wanted to settle back before the porn on telly!

* * *

Roger was muscular and tight, smiling bright at Simon’s tune.

For once he sounded in time, the big thing banging loon.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Simon lured them all in, they’d be getting more tonight than just head.

* * *

Johnny spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

They all fell to their knees, turned on with a jerk.

And laying his finger atop of his noir leathers,

And giving a nod, up Simon’s chimney he rose!

* * *

Simon sprang into action, his band gave a whistle and whine,

Towards the singer, came a notorious, hot bassline.

Lips crashed and tongues met, dancing into the fire so bright,

"Happy Duranie _Kiss-mass_ to all, and to all _a hoppy nude... oh dear._ ”


End file.
